


The Continuation of your Dream...

by Saber_Vet



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Le Morte d'Arthur - Thomas Malory
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Vet/pseuds/Saber_Vet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Merlin, am I not allowed to lead a normal life? Am I not allowed to love?" Dressed in full armor, a king that never aged queried the old wizard. "Am I -a female in body and soul- capable of leading a country as its rightful ruler?"<br/>"Gender does not matter, o King. The Dragon's blood flows in your veins. It is enough to bring forth a miracle" </p><p>What would happen if the greatest King of Britain were to be born a female? Following Sir Malory's "Le Mort D'Arthur", this story narrates Arthur Pendragon's life and feats as a female that must spend the rest of her life rejecting her gender, emotion and lover, pretending to be something she is not -be it a male, or a great leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dragon's Seed

* * *

A few raindrops fell onto Kay’s forehead, as he moved his left leg to a more stable footing, while with his right hand reached out to grab yet another wooden beam that bulged out of the tall watchtower. It was a foggy day and the sky looked like it was going to pour heavy rain soon. But the five year old boy did not care much about the weather –or how slippery the stones of the tower would become when it actually would start to rain. He was now a good seven meters off the ground.

A voice filled with concern and worry reached barely his ears as he climbed into the tallest window of the stone tower. When inside the small circular room, Kay’s head popped up from inside the window and he waved happily towards his mother. A face of indignation was all he got in return.  
Lady Allura sighed. The boy truly loved his father. Since that morning, when a messenger had arrived on horseback, Kay just couldn’t stay still. “His lordship brings a very important guest with him, ma’am. He orders that a great feast is to be held today, and our biggest guest room be prepared.” The words of the messenger still echoed in her head. What on earth was that important, that her Lord had to send a man to inform her beforehand? _What was going on?_

Kay bawled leaning on the watchtower window towards her, thus putting an end to her deep thoughts. “He is coming! Mother, Father is coming!” Kay kept screaming “I can see him on his mare! And he is bringing with him other knights too!” With a clear voice, hiding her almost visible to all curiosity, lady Allura ordered that the gates be opened. Soon after Kay reached her side with swift movements, descending from the tower in a jiff -in his face was carved a huge smile.

Sir Ector was a man in his late twenties, a bit more stout than others, with short dark brown hair and a thick beard. He entered the castle on horseback, dressed with his steel armor, rather formally. As soon as he laid eyes on his Lady and son, his gloomy face lit up by a warm smile. He was clearly troubled by something – Allura thought. Behind him, came his two most loyal knights and prominent members of his personal guard and another man, wearing a hood that covered his whole face, he held something in his arms – _a bundle?_ The only thing Lady Allura could see from where she was, was his thick grayish beard.

As soon as Ector came down from his horse, he opened his large arms to welcome Kay in his hug. The people of the castle, that were out to salute the lord could only smile at that indication of love, from father to son. “Will you teach me how to ride and spar again father?” The five year old copy of his father asked eagerly. With a resounding laughter, Sir Ector responded affirmatively. “But first, I have to talk to your mother, son.” He added, still smiling and with two swift moves found himself right next to Lady Allura. “My lord, when I saw your man riding at full speed this morning I was terribly worried”. She whispered into his ear, while he kissed her forehead. “What happened?” 

Ector pointed the man in the hood with his gaze. “He will explain.” He stated simply.

Allura eyed the suspicious looking man, as he walked confidently towards them. “My lady” he bowed slightly before her, touching the back of her soft hand to his lips. It seemed that the bundle that he was still carrying prevented him from making abrupt movements. Now Allura could observe him from up close. He was a man in his late forties, an intimidating sharp-edged face that was made completed with a rich gray beard. But all that didn’t make much of an impression to the Lady. There was something odd, something unreal –almost ethereal- about the face of that man. Then she noticed. His eyes. Cold icy blue. It was almost as they emitted a strange glow, foreign to this world. “Maybe we should talk inside Sir Ector.”

“We should. Allura, come with us. I... have some strange news for you…” Ector replied turning to his Lady.

The three of them proceeded into the castle, an old construction, built with stone and wood, passed from father to son, for ages. Reaching Ector’s chambers, the Sir ordered his wife to lock the door. The man in the cloak spoke almost immediately. “Let me introduce myself properly this time my Lady.” He chuckled. “My name is Merlin.” At the hearing of the name, Allura froze. _The fatherless wizard…_ Merlin approached her and showed her the precious cargo that he was cherishing up until now in his arms. Small tufts of golden hair made their appearance under the light of the torches that were lit in the room. “A… _baby?_ ” She was confused. Really confused. She casted her eyes upon her husband warningly. “Is this yours?” 

Ector responded with a negative nod. “Woman, this child is the seed of King Uther Pendragon. Merlin is entrusting it to us... From now on this infant shall be your second child.” The mage, interrupting Sir Ector came to deliver a little better explanation. “My lady, I have very high expectations of this child. It is going to become a great warrior and leader one day. I can offer the proper education to turn it into a king, but I know nothing of raising a child.”

Allura was left speechless, looking the baby, the warlock and her husband at the same time. If this was a joke, it wasn’t very funny…“So you will stay here in the castle and…”

“And provide the proper education for Kay and the baby.” Merlin completed her sentence.

“Very well.” Condescended she. “I always wanted a second child. And Kay can have company –other than the butcher’s boy” She giggled as she held the infant in her arms. The small bundle moved as the baby shifted its sleeping position into its golden sheets.

As she remembered something of high importance, she turned to Merlin. “What about the name?”

“His name is Arthur. But until I say so, Wart is good enough.”

Merlin’s reply was as simple as a dripple of water in a still lake, yet… Allura laid eyes on him first, then, by taking a look inside the golden blanket, she examined the infant in confusion. “But it’s not a…” She tried to protest.

“Here is the strange part” Sir Ector, quiet up until now interrupted her. _“You will treat as if it were one…”_

* * *

“Sir, shall your son Arthur be king after your days, of this realm with all the appurtenance?” 

“What are you saying Merlin? Trying to deceive an ill man at his deathbed, are you now? I only have daughters.” 

“My king, everything will be as I foretold upon the conceiving of your child with Igraine. The blood of the Dragon is still strong in her.”

“You give me hope Merlin. Very well… Take my sword, Caliburn, and the moment I die plant it in a marble stone and anvil, in the churchyard of Westminster and bound it with a spell –only a person with a heart of a king may draw it. If my seed turns out to be a true bearer of the blood of the Dragon, I give him God’s blessing and mine, and bid him pray for my soul, and righteously and worshipfully that he claim the crown upon forfeiture of my blessing;”


	2. Wart

#  Sixteen Years Later 

“He is not here... No doubt God will make him known.” mumbled the Archbishop to himself as he observed the sword wedged into its anvil and square marble base. When a pigeon came from London informing him about the appearance of the mysterious weapon three months ago, the old priest left Canterbury in such a hurry, that any man with half his years would be jealous of. He believed the sword to be the miracle that would save Britain from its own decay and bring it back to its former glory. It was a true piece of art, with its blue handle and golden finishing, a fair sword naked by the point, with letters written in gold about its blade that said thus; 

“Whoso pullet out this Sword of this stone and anvil, is rightful king born of all England.”

Since that morning, many lords had tried to stir the sword from its place, their tries ended in vain one after the other. _Put ten knights, men of good fame on guard, so that no man can approach the holy weapon. And put criers all over the city that on New Year’s there shall be tournaments and jousts, so that any knight or lord or baron who tourneys or jousts and wins shall first try the Sword in the Stone -Caliburn_. That were the orders he had given himself. Had the Church not intervened, many good folk would have been killed, in their madness and obsession with the throne.

“Who will be the rightful king, born of all England?” He asked himself, rephrasing the words on the blade, as he let his gaze soar to the clear blue sky up above.

* * *

She woke up to a rooster’s distant crowing. The sun had already began its daily trip across the sky, lending its strong light and warmth to earth. She rose to a sitting position, letting the woolen blanket fall to reveal her small breasts and well-shaped, petite body, under her semi-transparent ecru nightgown. She had a very athletic stature, much more muscular than other girls of her age, despite her small height –she barely reached 1,60. _And she hated it._

Along with other things. And one of them was Kay’s grumbling. She could hear his voice as he was calling her, literarily roaring in the courtyard. “Oh, man…” She rose up and with swift moves grabbed her linen white shirt from a chair that was to her bed. It was her favorite piece of cloth, a present from her late mother. Its sleeves were baggy down to her wrist, where they were tightened with thin silky blue ribbons. It was fairly loose at the torso too, so that it could hide effectively her femininity, without attracting too much attention, fastened by a dark blue belt at the height of her waist.

She wore her dark blue woolen pants and black high boots faster than ever. It was so not like her to be late and she was so hungry. Maybe she could stop by the kitchen and beg for a lemon pie…  
“WART! HOW MUCH ARE YOU GOING TO SLEEP?!”  
…or maybe not. She dashed out of her bedroom and descended the stone staircase, like a small whirlwind. Exiting the small castle, she viewed Kay, waiting for her with the reins of two horses in his hands. Her brother towered before her and growled “So you decided to wake up _brother_ ” 

Kay was tall. Very tall. The tallest man Arthuria had seen up until now. He reached at least a height of 2.10 m, his body filled with muscles and raw power. Despite that rather intimidating image of his –and his constant grumpy face- he had developed into a very beautiful young man. He was a taller and more muscular version of Sir Ector, with his dark brown hair cut short and a thin beard framing his angular face. She reached him a bit after his waist, it was like a giant and a dwarf were put together in display. And no matter how rude he was towards her from time to time, she could not do but look up to him. 

“Good morning Kay… I am sorry for making you late…” Arthuria responded to her brother’s cynicism simply, thing that made the twenty one year old man soften up. He touched her silky blonde hair, with his free hand. “Shit, Wart…” he sighed. “You forgot to tie your hair… What if someone saw?” He passed her a blue ribbon, taken from his belt. “You sure you still don’t want to cut them short? It’s going to make your life much easier.” 

“No, brother” Arthuria uttered simply while she gathered her long up to her shoulders, hair low with the ribbon, leaving two thick tufts of hair free to frame her face. “I am sorry. Mother… liked my hair long.” Kay closed his eyes in acceptance. Truth was that he loved her hair too. _Always so serious…_ he thought. _Only if she smiled a bit more often… Not everything is duty. Still… if I were in the same situation as her, I don’t think that I would smile as much as she smiles now. In fact I would not smile at all_. He chuckled at the thought. He was one to talk -he rarely smiled even now. 

“I see you are both here” A hoarse, yet sweet voice came from behind their backs. Merlin approached the two siblings smiling, always accompanied by a big, dark brown owl that was sitting on his shoulder. “I hope that you are ready to begin.” 

“Good morning Master” Arthuria bent a bit towards Merlin greeting him formally “I hope you are in good health”. “Mornin'” grunted Kay and patted Arthuria in the head. “Hey good-for-nothing squire! Go get me my sword! And get one for yourself.” The petite girl nodded in silence and ran towards the storehouse. 

“If only the knight could be like the squire in manners…” Merlin eyed Kay, a gaze full of meaning. “What?” Kay asked in confusion. “Oh nothing” replied the magician with a big grin. “I ain’t a knight yet old man” he spat out. No matter if that old hag was his and _his brother’s_ teacher and mentor, he still was at odds with him. Maybe it was because his gut was telling him that the crooked mage was the one that made Arthuria go through all this hard training, while she was supposed to hold dolls not swords and practice at sewing instead of sparring… 

As soon as squire Wart brought the swords, she and Kay wore their protective armors and rode their horses. “For now, you will train at horse riding and sparring, just like always” announced the mage. “I’ll smash you brother” shouted Kay in excitement from his chestnut mare. Despite the young of her age, his smaller sister was _really_ capable with the sword. The blond girl did not speak. Only lowered her protective mask and prepared her steed. She knew she would surpass Kay’s abilities in the sword, just like other times. And just like other times, Kay will claim her victory to be false. 

Merlin gave the signal, and that exact moment a huge cloud of dust raised up to cover the two swordsmen and their horses, as they both charged at each other. The first battle would be won by the warrior who managed to drop the other off the horse. Kay raised his bastard sword and swung it aiming at Arthuria’s neck. Her small size and slender body gave her all the agility she needed to avoid easily the strike, and in response, with the wide side of her sword she hit the thighs of Kay’s mare. The chestnut horse rose at its two feet and started kicking right and left, trying to escape Kay’s control. It wasn’t long before he fell with his butt on the ground. Arthuria jumped off of her white steed too and gave her sword a testing swing, while approaching her older brother with cautious steps. On the ground, Kay had the advantage at pure force and brutality. So her only weapons against him were her swift legs and technique. 

Merlin once told her that swiftness and agility were two virtues that not many knights in England had. Since she would not gain any more height, or manage to acquire the muscle strength of a fully grown man, Arthuria had only those advantages on her side. But they weren’t enough. _Technique_. That was the last virtue she had to master, to be truly good. So, with the help of her father and Merlin -and her hard work of course- she had managed almost to perfect her longsword and footing technique at her age of sixteen. Sir Ector was already no match for her. Small beads of sweat formed in her brow as Kay now stood up, picking up his sword from the ground cursing. _Still… No matter what I do, I can’t beat him…._

The twenty year old man charged at her with extraordinary amounts of force in his thrust. She avoided it by a hair and Kay’s blade struck nothing but air. Her emerald eyes shone in dither. Even with her always stiff and dead serious face, one could understand when she was happy – If one knew where to look. And now she was overjoyed. “Prepare yourself” she declared and charged at her brother, by lowering her whole body, so that she can evade any attacks from the 2.10 giant called Kay. 

And it worked. Kay’s bastard sword couldn’t pursue her slender figure fast enough, giving her time to find herself behind him and with a precise movement, to bring the blade of her sword to a halt three centimeters from his neck. A faint smile formed in the side of her lip as she acknowledged her victory. Kay had other opinions as to who was winner though. 

“Yea sure Wart…” He growled pushing aside the blunt blade of her longsword. “If my mare were not that disobedient, you would be the one with the sword in your neck now…” 

_There it was again._

Couldn’t he just accept his defeat for once? This behavior of his after every battle… It made her rethink all her movements all over again… What if the horse was not influenced by the smack? Then maybe he would be the one to bring her down. One more time she wasn’t satisfied… It just didn’t feel like a real win… 

She removed her armor and proceeded to put hers and Kay’s along with their swords away in the storehouse. She hadn’t walked ten feet when the voice of the magus stopped her. 

“Wart. Leave those be, you can take care of them later… Kay call your Lord father –he must join us.” Key rolled his eyes and left without saying nothing. Arthuria instead went in his side and asked in curiosity “If this is about Kay’s repeatedly bad behavior, please accept my honest apologies master. He meant no wrong.” The girl lowered her gaze, hoping that her teacher would let this pass. 

Merlin laughed. “No Wart, it’s not about Kay… I am just serving my duty to your lord father as the Wiseman of his castle.” That kid was surely special… _Immediately taking all responsibility in the stead of her brother_. She would make one of the most perfect kings in the history of kings, Merlin was sure of it… And of course he would be there to brag about his little creation. 

Once all of them were gathered in the great hall of Sir Ector’s castle, Merlin passed a scroll to the Lord. It bore the emblem of the Archbishop, its seal broken. “What is this Merlin?” Asked he the mage. “Here it says that the Holy Church has ordered all lords and knights…” Ector’s eyes widened as he read more and more of that letter. 

“What does it say father? What about knights?” Asked Kay with curiosity written all over his face.

Sir Ector read the letter out loud; 

“To all Lords, Knights and Barons,  
The Holy Church can bear no longer seeing this country in turmoil. Thus we order, all lords of the realm and all the gentlemen of arms that they should to London come by Christmas, upon pain of cursing; and for this cause that Jesus, who was born on that night, that he would of his great mercy show some miracle who should be king of this realm,  
The Holy Church of Canterbury.” 

Silence dominated the great hall. Sir Ector stared at his two sons. “Christmas… It’s only two months away…” Kay stated in a quiet voice. “Will we be attending father?” queried Arthuria. 

Merlin’s gaze fell on the Lord. _She is the flesh and blood of Uther. The heir to the throne of England. She is the miracle. You will participate_. He transferred these words into Ector’s mind. The brown haired lord only scratched his rich beard and looked at the small fragile girl in the apparel of a boy. For an instant he reflected, how heavy the burden of reigning, a responsibility meant to be carried by a man, would be on that little girl’s shoulders. Yet, she _was_ the heir –the sole bearer of the blood of Uther Pendragon.

“We will Wart.” He responded after some brief seconds of thought. The most possible circumstance was that Merlin had planned about Arthuria’s ascension to the throne by forcing the Archbishop of Canterbury to gather all lords and knights to London as a distraction. But he had no solid proof about that and –truth be told- the last thing he wanted now was to investigate the secrets of possibly the most dangerous man in all the kingdom. 

“Wart” Merlin called the little girl as father and sons were about to exit. “Yes master?” She answered obediently. “After you are done with your chores, come up to my study room. Your daily classes are not canceled…” He stated absentmindedly. “As you wish”, she bowed slightly. 

_Flap, flap, flap_

Her gaze wandered at one of the hall’s dormers and spotted Merlin’s owl, staring at her with narrow eyes. For a moment Arthuria was sure that the bird knew every last of her deepest secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -For those who wonder, Merlin chose to "plant" Caliburn in the stone sixteen years after Uther asked him to. Merlin believed that Arthur(ia) had the potential -and required bloodline- to become King, even though she was a female. So he wanted her to have a fair chance at pulling the sword.
> 
> -In most Arthurian mythology texts, Excalibur [or Caliburn] is the sword in the stone. I chose to follow Fate's universe on this one, thus making the sword in the stone named "Caliburn" and the Holy Sword received from the Lady of the Lake "Excalibur".


	3. The Scent of Lavenders

Some scattered snowflakes fell onto Arthuria’s blond hair as she and Sir Ector headed towards Kay’s tent. Her brother had been knighted only that same morning and was given a tent to prepare for the jousting that was to follow after the ceremony. _Sir_ Kay, was old enough to take the oath of knighthood and being bound by the vows of a gentleman in arms was a rule that had to be obeyed if he wished to participate in the tournaments that would take place later, for the sword.

Finally Wart would really be a proper squire to a proper knight. That thought alone drove her forward in excitement. And she was on the way to her first task already. As they made their way through the camp, the only thing she could do is just stare right and left in awe. London was just so big and chaotic and full of people of all sorts. Beggars in the side of the road, commoners who gathered like ants in the stands to see the games, barons and lords drinking from golden goblets and laughing from their elevated platforms and of course knights.

Oh there were so many of them, and as she drew closer to Kay’s tent she just saw more and more of them. Tall and short, old, young, with shiny armor or just a plain vest –they were all there. Others were talking to their squires, while taking care of their equipment, others were chattering and giggling, gathered together in small campfires, as their squires ran like madmen combing their horses. It was really as her father said “All greatness of Britain lies in her knights.”

The tent they were looking for had the color of dark blue and bore the banners of Sir Ector’s respective House. Ector went inside first to congratulate his son from up close and share a cup of wine. But Arthuria did not enter at once. All that she wanted was to gaze at those men laugh. _How nice… To have comrades that you can count on_. A wave of cold wind ran through her warm clothes, making her wrap herself even tighter with her woolen cloak. Intimidated by the cold she turned her back against the stream and walked towards the warmth of the tent. And as she went with the wind, blond hair flowed into her face and shoulders violently. _The ribbon… She touched the back of her head anxiously where the small garment was supposed to be but didn’t find anything._

She couldn’t possibly enter the tent without it –Kay would roar louder than the entire camp altogether. The only solution was to get another ribbon _or_ find the old one and quickly. She covered most of her face and long hair with the hood of her cloak and marched with a quick pace amongst the many gentlemen of arms, her restless gaze searching for a blue tint inside the vast white of the camp.

_“Hey lad, are you looking for this?”_

A husky voice came from behind her, a hand touching her right shoulder. Maybe it was because she was nervous enough for losing her ribbon, or maybe because that stranger’s voice triggered a chill in her spine, but Arthuria’s reflects were quicker than her own surprise. With an expeditious flowy move she eluded the man’s touch and faced him in a fighting stance, her hand in the small dagger worn in her belt. Her emerald eyes examined the stranger in front of her, with a cold almost unhuman look, but what she saw was the least to say the most beautiful of sights.

Before her stood a man tall and well built, not many years older than her own brother, in full steel armor and in his stretched gloved hand was her lost ribbon. His messy hair fell in tufts in his chiseled face –some forming a small braid on his left side- and a short goatee beard decorated his chin, along with a suspicion of a moustache in his upper lip. Arthuria noticed that despite the silver white of his hair, it did not age him a day. Maybe his eyes were the reason. Two almond shaped opals, in the colors of the ocean that casted a warm glance on her. The longer she admired them, the more she thought that she could drown in them forever.

“Whoa, easy there, bo- eh? A girl?! I would have sworn you were a squire! Do pardon me my lady!” The white haired knight bowed politely in sincere apology despite his confusion, offering her the most charming smile she had ever come across. 

What? Arthuria froze in her position. _How does he know?_ Instinctively her hand reached for her hood. Once again it found nothing but her hair. It must have slipped as she tried to escape his touch. A knot formed in her throat. No… she couldn’t lose it now. _Remember Merlin’s lessons. Fear does more damage than a sword._ Since he didn’t know her true identity a single girl inside that vast crowd was not a strange sight. At last she felt her composure returning to her little by little and couldn’t help but wonder why she had lost it in the first place. 

“Do not bow to me good Sir”, she replied simply. _Good manners Arthuria! You are supposed to be a girl now…_ “The ribbon is indeed mine. I have nothing to offer but a thank you”, she bowed slightly offering him a cold smile –the best she could muster- and collected her piece of clothing from his still stretched arm. Her nostrils caught the slight scent of lavender. “I do hope you do your best in any competition you participate in today”, she added and before the man could utter a vowel she was already lost in the vast crowd. She was extremely late and Kay –Sir Kay- would surely be infuriated by now. 

“I hope you‘ll be watching when I participate!” the man’s voice echoed from somewhere in the crowd and Arthuria felt the pale skin in her cheeks turn bright red. Her ribbon still had the scent of lavenders.


	4. Whoso pulleth out this sword...

“Wart!” roared Sir Kay. “Where the hell have you been? Me and father were looking all over for you, and you were sightseeing you little scum?!” He was roaming about the room like a wild beast in captivity, his face as red as the color of the setting sun. Arthuria just stood in the middle of it all and payed close attention –if she wouldn’t, even more calamities were to be bestowed upon her other than just Kay’s rampaging. 

“In thirty minutes I am jousting and I have no sword Wart”, he went on. “No fucking sword Wart!”

The girl lowered her gaze to the floor of the warm tent. Kay's armour and weaponry were her responsibility alone. What if her father or Ector found out? Feelings of shame wetted her eyes. No... There was no point of losing her temper too. The only thing she had to do was to fetch the blade. “Where did you leave your sword, Sir?” she queried in a flat emotionless tone.

Kay stopped his endless circles and looked at her with a calmer look. _There we go._ In all these past years, Arthuria had learned how to read her brother’s emotional outbursts and deal with them coolly. Lesson number one: never raise your voice. Leave him in his own rage. Lesson number two: offer him a solution. And there you have it! A calm, brand-new Kay.

“It’s in the inn. I think it’s next to my bed”. Arthuria felt his troubled gaze stab her. Deep inside that look were written the words _"You have to get out in that freezing weather again."_

“In fifteen minutes I’ll be back with the sword, Sir.” In London she was his squire before she was his brother. She and Kay had been training in the manners of knighthood since they were small children and now was the time to show that their hard efforts were not futile.

She exited the blue tent and saddled her horse with swift and precise moves. It took her less than two or three minutes to find herself on the saddle and spur her white steed forward. The inn was not very far from the camp’s location, she found it easily, after losing a turn or two. Jumping from her horse, Arthuria rushed for the entrance, only to find it double locked. And then it dawned on her. Of course! How stupid had she been! Everyone went to watch the tournaments!

_Flap, flap, flap_

With the corner of her eye she noticed. A big, dark browned owl, staring at her with narrowed eyes. Arthuria only watched it for a moment before it opened its big wings and glided from the pole she was standing, to the next one. No doubt that was Merlin’s owl and no doubt it was sent to her as a sign from him. 

Placing herself on the saddle, she spurred her white horse once again, following Merlin’s owl that just kept gliding from one post to the road lamp and the next post again. At last, after some tiring minutes of full speed horse riding in alleys and narrow streets, the owl landed on the fence of the graveyard behind Westminster Abbey. And there, among the tombs and marbles was a sword –maybe the most beautiful weapon Arthuria had laid eyes on, up until now- stuck in an anvil on a marble square base. Blue handle, gold finishing and rubies and a fine blade, decorated with golden letters.

Arthuria tied the reins of her steed on the black rusted iron fence and entered the graveyard with caution. She was stepping on holy land, that she knew, but it wasn’t this that invited fear into her mind. For some reason, from the moment her gaze fell upon that sword, a weird sensation of uneasiness lingered inside her chest, made her want to run away –but she couldn’t. Her slender hand reached out for the handle reluctantly –her fingers were only centimeters away from it….

“That is no ordinary blade. Were thou to pull it out of its base, thou shalt not be human anymore”

Arthuria froze. That hoarse voice. She heard it all her life on a daily basis, yet now it seemed so distant and foreign. The owl had landed in a tomb right next to her. 

“Merlin…? That is you, isn’t it?” Her emerald pools scanned the empty snowed scenery.

_Flap, flap, flap_

No answer. No owl.

A clock somewhere sounded twice. The grandiose sound of the bell was enough to bring the blond girl back from her deep thoughts. She had no more time. The thirty minutes that she had promised her brother were almost over. She had to decide. “Kay will not be without a sword this day”, she concluded and grabbed the sword by the handles. It only took a light yet fierce move for the blade to slide through the stone and anvil and be freed. The moment that the steel left the iron, Arthuria felt a wave of power running through her body, as if every single of her cells was born anew and in amidst of it all, a vision. A bloodstained hill. A red setting sun. Despair. Regret. Nothingness.

She panted heavily, clearly overwhelmed by what happened. Suddenly, the graveyard seemed like the most frightening place to be. She approached hurriedly her horse, climbed up the saddle and forced it to gallop, faster than she ever galloped before. When she arrived back in the knights’ camp, Kay was waiting for her outside of his tent in full armor. Seeing his familiar figure put her heart to rest. What happened in Westminster, had scared the crap out of her. With a smile full of pride she called out to him, waving the sword that she had gone through so much to acquire.

Jumping from her steed she ran to his side, and kneeling to him, she offered him the well-crafted blade, waiting for a word of praise. Looking up to her knight brother, she received the exact opposite reaction of what she expected. Kay was white as a sheet of paper and as he kept looking at the inscription on the blade, he just got whiter and whiter. “… Kay?” Her brother stared back with eyes blank. “Where did you find this sword?” he lisped.

Arthuria replied reluctantly “I… took it from Westminster abbey's graveyard”

Kay grabbed her hand even before she had finished her phrase and marched forward with a more than fast pace. “Come with me _Wart!_ ” he commanded. The girl could do nothing but follow


	5. A New King for Britain

Ector spiked the sword back in the anvil and called out to Kay. Since his son and Wart had presented him with the sword, the old man had spoken no word. Just took the sword and walked straight to the Abbey. _"That sword came to me. I am the King of England!"_ Kay had falsely claimed. 

A great commotion was caused. Many people called out to their new king, others did not believe what they saw. And as they made their way to Westminster, a great mob formed in their wake. But the old man knew that his first born –and only legitimate son- could not possibly be the one to stir that sword out of its place. That sword called out for the blood of the Dragon, and Kay did not have a single drop of it in his veins.

“Now Kay, draw the sword out of the anvil”, he ordered his son in a ringing voice, so that all could hear. _Sorry son…_ he apologized in silence.

Kay walked up to the Holy Sword in reluctance. He _had_ declared himself King of the Britons but now, he was not entirely sure that he could move Caliburn out of its place. He grabbed the Sword in the Stone by the handles and channeled every drop of his strength into his muscles. The sword did not even wobble. Curses and woes echoed from the churchyard behind him. The newly knighted lad looked at Wart with enmity and disappointment. Arthuria took that glance as his own unique way of apology.

Sir Ector roared begging for the crowd to be silent and turned once again to his son. “Kay this is a mystery we _need_ to solve”, he intoned. “Swear on your faith to this Holy Church that your words from now on be all true; where did you get the sword?”

Kay sighed, but did not respond. Only grabbed Arthuria’s arm and brought her forward, in front of her father and the people. “Wart gave it to me.”

Many stares now befell onto her back, many whispers reached her ears–the petite blond girl ignored every single one of them. She had drawn the Sword in the Stone –Caliburn. She had been warned by Merlin –or by what she thought was Merlin- and now she had to take full responsibility of her actions. “Is it true that you drew the Sword in the Stone?” Her father queried strictly.

_“I did”_

“How?”

“When I arrived in the inn, I found no one to deliver me my brother’s sword. I thought that Kay should not be swordless and so I came hither and pulled Caliburn out of the stone without any pain” her words were as simple as they were true.

“Found ye any knights about this sword?”

“No”

“Arthur, my son, I understand that you must be King of Britain” His always steady deep voice was now flickering slightly.

“Wherefore I, and for what cause?” Her confusion was big enough as it was and the mob beyond the graveyard wouldn’t just be quiet! 

“Sir” uttered Ector with utmost respect, an address that Arthuria not only did not expect, but did not wish to hear from her own father’s mouth, “For God will have it so, for there should never man have drawn out this sword but he that shall be right wise King of this land. Let me see whether I can pull the Sword out of its place.”

And with those words, Sir Ector essayed to pull out the sword. And failed. A new wave of yells came from the crowd. The bearded man pointed at Caliburn with a sharp nod of his head. Arthuria moved forward. Now was the time to prove the right of her words. But… Kay and her father had failed. What if the last time she drew the blade was a mere accident and now it wouldn’t move? What if this time she would fail too?

Silence. The slender girl, now pretending to be not just a boy, but a man, climbed with steps slow but confident the marble base of the Sword. She couldn’t show weakness now, not in front of all these people that knew her father as a good and brave man. Her hands reached for Caliburn’s handle. It only took the slightest of efforts to pull the sword. With a faint swoosh, the blade was out of its anvil. _It was all the same._ The numbness on her body, the vision –this time clearer. A bloodstained hill. A red setting sun. Tears down her face. A faint sound of horse hooves making their way through the mud and corpses. _Despair. Regret. Nothingness._

Her eyes wandered around the place, trying to perceive what was going on. People were cheering, praising God for giving them the King they so longed for. But their yells didn’t reach Arthuria’s ears. In front of her, Sir Ector and Sir Kay, knelt down to the earth, asking for forgiveness and mercy. The shock was enough to force her to take some steps backwards. “Alas my dear father and brother, why do you kneel to me?” she finally managed to utter with a bitter voice.

“No… no, my lord Arthur, it is not so, I was never your father nor your blood, but I know well you are of a higher blood than mine or Kay’s.” It was time for Wart to learn the truth and Ector knew that he couldn’t avoid it. Part of Merlin’s predictions had come true and the child was still held in the darkness.

Sir Ector rose and took his younger son’s arm, raising it towards the vast mob. “This child is Arthur, the first born and only descendant of Uther Pendragon and Igraine, seed of the Dragon, bearer of the Dragon’s blood and now rightful heir to the throne of England, after his father. He was given to me to raise him and nurture him by the fatherless wizard, Merlin. And I ask you people of Britain. _Do you accept the bearer of your king’s blood and his holy blade as your rightful king and ruler?_ ” he pronounced with a voice that every single person gathered could hear with ease… The people answered by yelling their new King’s name. “Arthur Pendragon! Long live the King! God bless the king!” 

Arthuria’s gaze fell upon the marvelous blade. Suddenly Caliburn seemed awfully heavy in her small delicate hands. Her whole life, up until now was a lie. Ector, the man that she so much adored and looked up to, the man that had decided that she was to live as a male and Allura, the only person that accepted her as a female and not as Sir Ector’s bastard son, were nothing more than her guardians, two nobles put in this position by Merlin, not related to her at all. And Kay. Her dear Kay… She glanced at him, silently asking if he knew. The tall man just averted his gaze. It was crystal clear that he was in the same state as her, ignorant of her origin.

“No one would accept you as the heir– your father was sick and he needed a son. This is why he gave you to Merlin, who in his turn gave you to me with the mission to raise you as a male; you see, Uther hoped that one day you would reign Britain as his proud son. And here you are with the Sword in the Stone in your possession.” Sir Ector explained further in an almost whispering tone, yet it seemed that he wanted to say more.

“Sir” he uttered reluctantly. The mob kept cheering. “Will you be my good and gracious lord when thou become king?” 

_He felt... guilty?_ He was raising his former king’s child as his bastard son, refusing her noble blood consciously and turned Arthuria into a squire to his own son, not to mention that Kay treated young Wart roughly as his squire to be –if he adored her or not was unimportant. True, that was no way to raise the child of your King, but still, he was the man who nurtured, fed and raised her to be the person she is now, under his own roof.

“Else were I to blame” answered she plainly, her eyes depicting honesty. “Foy you are the man I am most beholden to and my good lady and mother your late wife, that as well as her own, had fostered me and kept me.”

At that time it truly didn’t matter if she was related to this man or not. She loved Sir Ector and she was grateful that he and Lady Allura were the ones who had looked after her. “And if ever it be God’s will that I be king as you say, you shall desire of me what I may do, and I shall not fail you –God forbid I should fail you.” She touched his shoulder signaling him and Kay to stand.

“Sir…. I will ask no more of you that you will make my son, your foster brother, Sir Kay seneschal of all your lands.”

“That shall be done.” Arthuria turned to the large crowd and raised Caliburn upwards. “I swear my first vow upon this very blade that never man shall have that office but he, while he and I live”

“Cheers to the King’s First Knight and Officer! Long live Sir Kay! Long live the King!” cried the populace. 

At that time Arthuria would swear that Kay wore his warmest and truest smile.


	6. A Feast for Kings

“We will have Arthur unto our king! We will put him no more in delay, for we all see that it is God’s will that he shall be our King, and who that goes against it we will slay.” All the barons, Lords and knights pronounced altogether and their voices echoed in every corner of the Caerleon’s abbey. They all knelt in front of a petite girl –their future king- dressed in a royal blue garment, fully armored. Her hair were tied firmly into a bun on the back of her head with a braid circling it, only two tufts of hair that framed her delicate face and her bumps remained loose. She stood stiff in front of the altar with the appropriate serious façade that the situation demanded and with her gaze fixed somewhere in the back of the hall.

After the New Years, when it was announced that Arthur was to become King of Britain, there were many who denied his claim to the throne. Many insisted on drawing the Sword in the Stone themselves and failed miserably. And so Arthuria’s coronation was delayed from New Year’s to Candlemas, when all Barons and high-born and gentlemen of arms came to London and issued again about Arthur’s humble lineage, not recognizing him as the son of Uther, and eagerly tried to pull Caliburn off its Stone once more and failed. Leaving displeased they put off the ceremony till the high feast of Easter. And then again up until Pentecost.

Finally, after Arthuria stirred The Holy Sword out of the stone for the fourth time in public, the nobles of Britain were finally convinced that this sixteen year-old _boy_ was the rightful heir to the throne and almost immediately took her to the City of Lions, Caerleon-upon-Usk, to be crowned. All this time, Arthuria was escorted and guarded every second of the day by her late father’s two most loyal Knights and members of his personal guard, Sir Baudwin and Sir Ulfius.

“Our King, show mercy upon our petty souls, for we denied thou thy crown for so long without any excuse”. Cried the nobles in the church, begging for forgiveness. Arthuria consented. 

With both of her hands she took Caliburn and offered it upon the altar. Silence dominated the temple. “Do you Arthur Pendragon swear thou wilt protect the realm with thy sword?” queried the Archbishop.

“I do”. She kneeled in front of the high priest.

“I, the Archbishop of Canterbury name you Sir Arthur. From today on and for all days to come thou art a knight of this kingdom, assigned to cherish it and protect it from all harm, no matter the cost.”

A child accompanied by Sir Kay –both dressed in white, gold and dark blue- entered from a side door and in its hands it held a golden tiara on a pillow with the same colors. The circular crown was decorated with emeralds to match her green eyes and on its sides, it depicted dragons unleashing their hot breaths to honor her lineage and origin; and lions roaring fiercely to depict the city that the king has chosen as his base.

The Archbishop of Canterbury took the crown and with trembling hands placed it on Arthuria’s head. “I now declare Arthur Pendragon, first son of Uther and Igraine, seed of the Dragon and bearer of the Dragon’s blood, King of Britain. Rise, Arthur, son of Uther and say your vows.”

Arthuria stood up slowly with clear devoutness in her movement. Despite the cold sweat forming small beads around her brows and forehead, she couldn’t afford to show weakness now. The people of Britain needed a ruler. Her voice echoed loud and reassuring in the temple. 

“I, Arthur Pendragon, now swear upon this sword, to be a true king and stand with true justice from henceforth the days of my life. May God and my subjects be my judges and may they judge me in righteousness.” With these words, she had denied herself the chance to live as an ordinary girl forever –no, she had already refused to follow such a lifestyle the moment she laid hands on that Sword. People cheered; “God save the King!”

People cried out; “Long live the King of Knights!”

People were blessing the King’s name; “Cheers to King Arthur! Cheers to the son of Uther!”

But Arthuria could not bring a smile to her face. No matter what, she just couldn’t think of the crowning as a happy event neither as an honor. Every cheer; every voice was yet another small burden on her shoulders. And at that time, every soul in Britain was crying out its new king’s name in tears of joy. Suddenly that sword got too heavy to carry anymore; but she had no choice –it was far too late to back up. She just stood there, proudly holding Caliburn, with a face as expressionless as it was serious. She was a leader now, the man that everyone could trust, the man that everyone could rely on, the man that would save them. With the corner of her eye she spotted Merlin hiding in the shadows with a big grin on his face.

* * *

“Sir Bedrawt of Pedrod and his son Sir Bedwyr” echoed the voice of the crier inside the vast hall, as the two men, father and son crossed the heavy gate. Although Bedivere was knighted since he was 19, over two years ago, it was his first time attending such a feast and he just couldn’t believe his very own eyes. There were wooden sculpted tables all around and on them were served dishes full of delicacies, giant plates with whole pigs, pheasants and deer, all cooked with perfection by the best. Servants and footmen were in a constant frenzy trying to satisfy the needs of every guest in the room, while in the middle of it all, lambs were roasting on their spits, granting the air with a faint scent of spices and smoke.

Counts, Barons, Nobles and Knights were talking and drinking wine from giant barrels, both done simultaneously and in quick paces. Bedivere thought that almost every man in this room must be drunk or at least very dizzy. All except from one and he was sitting on a stone throne right at the other side of that room, dressed in blue escutcheon and an even darker blue wrap. 

So that was King Arthur everyone was talking about. A sixteen year-old boy, dressed in silk. Seeing him from afar, Bedivere thought that there was something awfully familiar about him, but chose to avert his gaze instead of trying to figure out what it was.

On the other side of the room, were gathered the ladies in large groups, giggling and conversing vividly about matters that were almost unknown to the young knight –something about the latest trends in fashion? His keen eyes scanned every single one of them with anticipation, only to be let down a few seconds later. No, the one he was looking for wasn’t among them. How could she be? 

“Oh do me a favor son and forget her! She probably was nothing but a commoner, Lucan told you too.” His father, noticing his restless gaze, remarked –his voice an everlasting reminder of common sense. “Not for you!” he underlined. The young silver-haired man only looked back at Bedrawt with a chuckle -the embodiment of his disagreement on the matter.

“With those manners, and those eyes, I really doubt it my lord…” 

It was clear that father and son had had that conversation again for more than a hundred times over the last few months. With Bedivere at age of marriage, Sir Bedrawt wished for nothing in the world other than seeing his dear firstborn son be wedded to a fine young lady –were she the daughter of some count, all the better. “You’ll just go on doing as you please, won’t you?” he sighed. Bedivere just kept on wearing his chuckle.

“King Lot of Lothian and his 500 knights!” the crier announced the next guest.

“More important guests are arriving Bedivere… We should hurry to the King now” said Bedrawt. “King Lot is a strange man and we will certainly not be in the king’s favor should we make those people late…”

Bedivere remembered Arthur from that day when he pulled the sword in Westminster. He knew Sir Ector as his father’s dear friend –he and Lucan had played with Kay numerous times as kids, but he never knew about a younger brother. Ector must have had him as his bastard.

_A bastard of some knight, turned into a king..._ Amused by his thoughts he hardly noticed they already reached the throne.

“Your Majesty” Bedrawt kneeled a handful of steps away from Arthur. Bedivere bended his knee sloppily, his mind being elsewhere. Near a certain lost lady to be accurate. Not giving his King a single look he just remained kneeled, head facing the thick red carpet, whishing this would be over soon. 

“My name is Bedrawt of Pedrod, my lord, and I come here as a comrade of your father and now yours to show my faith and obedience to the crown.” His father declared with a big voice.

_“I welcome you to my feast Sir Bedrawt. My father always used to tell us stories about your many deeds and your friendship. I consider your coming as an exceptional honor.”_

Arthur’s voice was modulated and silvery – it rang even more bells in Bedivere’s head than his appearance. For the first time after he met the king he rotated his head to look at the boy talking in front of him. Two almond-shaped emerald eyes met with his, forcing his gaze to lock on them; just like another certain time, with another certain person. Blond bangs fell on his forehead and two large tufts of hair framed his pale face. The similarity to that girl was stunning. But something was different. The eyes he had met that day were warm and filled with fire. The eyes he saw now were cold as ice, just staring at him lifelessly.

“Am I free to presume that this is your older son, Sir Bedwyr, whom I have heard so much about?”

Suddenly Bedivere realized how much time he had been staring into Arthur’s eyes, speechless like a madman. Thank God, his King had the composure to let it pass unnoticed and now it was his turn to express his gratitude. It would be dishonoring let alone impolite to let his father do the talking for him.

“Your guess is more than correct, your Majesty. Let me introduce myself properly. I am Sir Bedwyr, son of Bedrawt. Your wish is my command.”

“My brother always told me how you, your brother and he played as kids all the time. I have heard nothing but the best. Isn’t Lucan going to be attending?”

“No sir. He is not knighted yet.”

“Please do send him my best regards.” Arthur signaled them to rise. “It is very comforting to know that Sir Ector has men like you and your father on his side. I pray that you remain our trusted allies is the days to come.”

“Your words honor me more than they should my lord.” Bedivere lowered his head in content, letting silver tufts of hair fall in front of his face. Maybe he had mistaken Arthur for some immature kid after all. And now he saw he was wrong.

“We really should be going, my King” Sir Bedrawt interrupted politely. “It is not proper for some knight and his son to keep kings busy.”

Arthur rose from his throne and with an elegant move bowed slightly to them “On the contrary. Knights are the foundational bricks of our country, Britain would be nothing but ruin without your presence. So I salute you, Sir Bedrawt and Sir Bedwyr. I do hope you have your fair share of fun at our gathering.”

“My lord” The two knights were so taken aback from their King’s words that the only thing they could muster to do was bow untidily and leave with mouths wide open.

“Kings Uriens of Gore and his 400 Knights” announced the crier.

* * *

Arthuria somehow managed to remain calm during the rest of the feast. She had really met him… The man from that day. When she thought of how they were reunited, she could hardly keep a grin off her face. _So… his name is Bedwyr_ , a thought full of joy filled her crowned head. She honestly did not believe that she would ever meet him again, yet there he was, flesh and bones. And a dear friend of Sir Ector’s on top of it all.

The rest of the crowning celebration went on as boringly as Arthuria thought it would. Sir Ector and Merlin had warned her beforehand that very important men, including Kings of neighboring countries would be present, so it was a matter of utter importance that she display the best behavior possible. And as promised, Kings _were_ here, sitting right beside her, as fellow comrades, eating and drinking in a happy mood.

King Lot of Lothian and Orkney with five hundred knights, King Uriens of Gore with four hundred. After those two came King Nentres of Garlot with seven hundred, the King of Scotland –an eighteen year old boy- with six hundred knights, the King-with-the-hundred-knights and finally the King of Carados with his five hundred men. 

Arthuria greeted every single one of them with the grace and elegance suited to the King of Britain, offered them to sit right beside her in her time of celebration and served the best hunt and alcohol one could find in Britain, all of these done with a single thought in mind. _Do not disappoint them_. One wrong word and it all could be turned into a havoc. Right now, Britain was vulnerable to a foreign attack and Arthuria was convinced that those men right beside her, drinking her wine and eating her food knew. Were they to combine their forces they would have an army of 2400 men, each of them trained in the way of knighthood, a sworn blade to his king. In Cair Lion, she had roughly 1200 knights and approximately another 500 guards. The difference in numbers was painful.

“King Arthur, the feast is spectacular.” King Lot said in a joyful tone, while eating a pheasant wing.

“Thank you, King Lot.This makes me the happiest of men.”

“See that Uriens? I wish my sons talked as eloquently and politely as him...” Lot exclaimed.

“Haha! I think you just didn’t teach your sons good manners Lot!” Uriens’ fruity voice could be heard anywhere inside that hall. Even more laughs burst out in the large oak table, despite King Lot’s unhappy face.

“The four princes of Lothian, were more than polite, when I asked them about your country, King Lot, and their knowledge of jousting was enough to make me rather envious.” Arthuria tried to patch the awkward joke.

“Oh, think nothing of him Sir Arthur! He is always like that, not seeing his own big nose first!” Nentres raised his cup. “Cheers to Uriens, the man that laughs at everything besides his nostrils!”

They all laughed with their hearts that evening. And although she was warned by Merlin to look out for these men, Arthuria couldn’t help but think that even if she didn’t think right of their policies, she was actually really fond of their company. _Merlin was a bit too cautious with them I guess…_ No matter what, she couldn’t imagine those laughing men as enemies. If they were foes, wouldn’t they be absent tonight, plotting behind her back? What kind of enemy wants to celebrate his enemy’s coronation?

“Honorable Kings of this table” Arthuria exclaimed, with her cup raised. “To be here and celebrate this moment with me, makes me a very happy man.” A wave of cheers echoed in response. “To compensate, I would like to present each of you with a gift, as a token of my –and Britain’s friendship. In each of your chambers, there will be one thousand golden coins along with this country’s most expensive fabrics and steel; and from our stables you can chose five of our most quick and fierce battle horses.” 

Each of the kings sitting on that table, raised their cups and sang three times “To Arthur!” each time emptying their cups, banging them on the table afterwards.

The grand feast wasn’t over up until the clock ringed three times after midnight. All guests were fairly drunk and with a little help from the footmen, they were escorted back to their chambers. No sounds could be heard in the vast castle of Cair Lion besides one pair of footsteps.

As soon as he got out of that hall, King Lot threw away that laughing mask he was forced to wear at the feast. “A sixteen year-old, in charge of Britain…. Ha!” he spat as he headed for a room different than his own. There, were gathered all other Kings- but Arthur- waiting for him.

“Did you see what the brat did Lot?” Nentres asked furiously.

“Besides being idiotically polite?”

“He brought gifts in our rooms… Gold and Steel! To thank us for coming to his fancy little party he says.” A deep throated laugh overwhelmed every other conversation into the room. “Preposterous”.

Uriens’ gaze wandered around the room, locking in the eyes of each of his allies, silently scattering intimidation. “I say we kill the brat and share Britain’s grounds! This place is far too profitable to be left at the hands of a child.”

“And I say you are right” answered King Lot. “Arthur and all of his government shall fall today.” All Kings nodded silently in consent. “Do what you must” he signaled two knights behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> -While the contents of the following text is mostly written by me, as I followed Sir Malory's book, I chose to borrow his own writing and/or dialogues, and adapted it/them to my own writing. 
> 
> -Most characters are based on their respected counterparts of the Fate series. I do not own them, nor am I taking any credit for them. Sir Bedivere is the only exception to that rule. (Characters that are not mentioned in Fate are also mine.)
> 
> -I also chose to give Sir Bedivere a significantly bigger role than the one that he has in "Le Mort d'Arthur" or the Fate series. While I could have borrowed the character for Sir Bedivere from Fate, I took the liberty of completely changing him, and adjusting him to fit the part of the co-leading character.


End file.
